


Observing

by Occula



Category: U2
Genre: Babies, Bus, Cuties, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12630624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occula/pseuds/Occula
Summary: On the road, Larry accidentally notices something about Adam, and then starts to look for it.





	Observing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ on Aug. 13, 2005. This was written for a challenge with the prompt 'voyeurism.'

I guess I noticed it on the bus one day. It was hot and drowsy, and we were all napping as best we could.

Sometimes I felt self-conscious for my lack of fashion. Adam came up with the oddest, coolest costumes sometimes. I admired his style, with his bohemian accoutrements. And Bono was well on his way to being a real rock star. Edge, he didn’t do anything too fancy, but even he got funky once in a while, with cool, cut-up, marked-on jeans, this and that.

It wasn’t me. Just wasn’t. I was too self-conscious to dress up like they did. But sticking to everyday clothes _also_ made me conscious of being ordinary. I didn’t think we had an overall "look," exactly, but I didn’t want to let them down. And I certainly didn’t want to stand out, even if it was as "the normal one."

Anyway, like I was saying. It was on the bus one day that I noticed it. I’d gotten up, stretched my legs up and down the aisle, returned to my seat, and looked across to see whether Adam was awake.

No, he was asleep, but I’d never noticed how he looked when he slept. His hair, extra-blonde from liberal applications of Sun-In; his tight jeans and costly new punk boots and his loose mesh sweater with the neck cut out of it. He had on several chunky bracelets and a plain chain necklace. He’d lost weight. The rest of us stayed skinny, but Adam had had an occasional chubby phase; I hadn’t noticed how slim he’d gotten lately.

And, amid everything, I was surprised to see how his face looked so young, so innocent. Like a child, almost, an angel who’d tried on worldly trappings and dropped off to sleep in the middle of it. There was some kind of purity about him, I felt, looking at his closed lids, his dark lashes, his relaxed mouth.

There’s nothing wrong with admiring what’s beautiful, is there? It’s what sculpture and art are for. Something that’s attractive is meant to be looked at and appreciated. It was his bone structure, his nose, his chin –

The bus hit a bump, he stirred a little, and I turned away hastily.

Having noticed it – whatever "it" was, this quality, his resting beauty – I looked for it again next time I had the chance, which was a couple of days later on the bus. Yes, there it was; there was no doubt. Even though I knew he was hung over, even though he was as foul-mouthed and ashtray-breathed as any other guy … nevertheless, that transcendent quality came to the surface, somehow.

A few days after that, we were sharing a room, and we’d all been drinking. Adam and I helped each other back to the room, and he put his glasses carelessly aside and collapsed across his bed while I went to piss. When I came out, he was lying there, half on his stomach, cradling a pillow in his arms, his head turned, face tilted up. A fallen angel in a halo of cheap-hotel lamplight.

I tore my gaze away and got ready for bed, sneaking glances as I stowed my shoes and found my pajamas. 

I hated to disturb him. I pulled off his shoes awkwardly and put them near his bag. "Ad’? Roll over a bit and I can cover you."

He rolled onto his back obligingly, looking dizzily at me, and I tucked his blankets around him, trying not to wonder, not to notice, whether he could be beautiful _awake_ , too.

After that, I tried to keep my eyes to myself, to not gawk at him when he slept on the bus or sneak peeks when we shared a room. 

It got me again backstage one day. Bono and Edge had gone to see about getting us something to eat, and Adam and I were loitering in the dressing room. He was sitting on the musty sofa reading magazines while I paced about and looked at the graffiti on the walls, reading the names of other bands.

When I ran out of wall and looked back at him, he caught my attention in that same way. He had his legs crossed at the knee, a wrist draped over the top knee, a cigarette dangling at an elegant angle from his fingers. He wasn’t looking at the magazines; they were scattered aside. He was staring off, just thinking. Brooding, perhaps. His eyes were dark and deep; the cock of his head, thoughtful; his shoulders were slouched and he was kind of curled in protectively around himself. 

"Take a picture, Larry," he muttered, glancing over at me before leaning over to stub out the cigarette.

"Sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed. I stuck my hands in my back pockets and turned back to the graffiti.

I had the answer to my question, though. Could he be beautiful awake? Could he have that quality about him?

Yes. Unequivocally. Of a certainty. Absolutely.

"See something you liked?" he drawled, and I whirled back to stare at him. He was smiling that sarcastic kind of slanting smile of his, but his eyes were as before: deep, dark, brooding, inquisitive … maybe vulnerable. I felt about six years old. I felt naked. What was he asking? What had I revealed? 

I had to say something, anyway, so I finally just shook my head. "I see _you_ ," I said, shrugging, frowning a little. "So, yeah."

Somehow it was the right thing to say; the brittle defensiveness died away from his mouth, the sharp, sardonic quality faded from his face. The corner of his mouth twitched back in a small, real smile, and he made a laughing kind of "huh" sound and fished another smoke out of the packet. 

_Yes. Unequivocally. Certainly. Absolutely._


End file.
